


Sometimes, It Takes Years.

by writingaddictsanonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Stiles, First Time, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, but they're the same age, characters are mostly underage, if that makes any difference at all, it takes them literal years, it's mostly feelings, this is very weak porn, top!scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingaddictsanonymous/pseuds/writingaddictsanonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles are best friends. Best friends tell each other everything. Best friends know what one another's-- nope, that's just Scott and Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes, It Takes Years.

They're thirteen the first time they compare, and fifteen the first time they masturbate next to one another. Stiles comes first, coats his hand in sticky, hot liquid. And Scott looks entranced as he comes, too, and Stiles watches the way his head falls back and his throat works through his orgasm.

And maybe Stiles jerks off again that night with his best friend's image painted across the backs of his eyelids.

It's not until a few months later that they touch one another. They slept on Stiles' couch and his dad left at six for a shift, so the boys are alone on the couch, mostly naked and sporting morning wood that absolutely cannot be ignored, not if Stiles has a say. And so they sit side by side, giving one another lazy handjobs as they watch the Sunday morning reruns. Scott comments that it's sacrilege, punctuates it with a laugh, and Stiles laughs along with him as they both come. They wash their hands in the sink and toss their clothes in the washing machine.  
It becomes a habit; they get each other off when they're tired of playing video games, or studying, or practicing for lacrosse season.

They only get almost-caught once, when Melissa comes home unexpectedly. But she slams the door on her way in, and Scott and Stiles are quick to yank their pants up, shove their achingly hard cocks away until they can continue.

Stiles brings up doing something new on a Saturday night five months later. They're at Scott's, because Melissa is working yet another twenty four hour shift. Scott turns away from the movie to let him know that he's listening. It's been two weeks since Stiles told Scott he's bisexual. It hasn't swayed them from their usual activity, even if Scott's pretty sure he's straight.

"I want to try sucking you off," are the unexpected words that come out of Stiles' mouth. His eyes are wide, innocent, and for a moment, Scott thinks that, yeah, he wants to come on Stiles' face.

He hasn't said anything, though; he's just staring at Stiles, and his friend backpedals quickly, saying, "Oh, man, but if that's not, you know, cool with--" he's stopped by a hand slapped over his mouth, and Scott's mop of hair bounces when he nods.

"Do it," he agrees softly. His pretty puppy eyes are locked on Stiles', and Stiles decides that with those words, he could probably die happy.

"Okay," he breathes, hands going for Scott's jeans. They're down to his ankles without a lot of effort-- Scott's skinny and the pants are loose-- and Stiles sinks to his knees, face to face with Scott's cock. It's almost as pretty as his face, he thinks, and admonishes himself for it. It's not as long as Stiles', but it's thick, intimidating. It's widest in the middle, and Stiles chides himself for suggesting this. He gathers his courage and gives a few slow strokes before Scott's hard in his hand, a little bit bigger now, and Stiles' mouth waters.

He can't fit much into his mouth. He learns that. Even though neither of them is done growing, Scott's clearly going to grow up to be even more hung than he is at barely sixteen.  
Scott comes on his face that night, and Stiles realizes then how well and truly fucked he is. He jerks off hurriedly in the bathroom, and once he goes home the next morning, he avoids Scott for a few days.

Scott's having his own crisis, though, trying to figure out what he feels toward Stiles. Because he's straight, he is, it's just that Stiles is his best friend and he's gangly and gorgeous and Scott just doesn't fucking know. And when Stiles finally does text Scott to hang out, he doesn't get an answer for a few days.  
It's two more months before Scott reciprocates a blowjob. Stiles can count on one hand how many times he's used his mouth to get Scott off, and the first time Scott wraps his lips around Stiles' cock and all but swallows him, Stiles becomes a whining, writhing mess on his twin bed. It's getting too small to fit them both comfortably.

Scott teases him in good fun for his reaction to that particular session. He gets better the next time, better at controlling that side of him.

Three weeks later, Scott mumbles that he thinks he's demisexual. They're pressed back to back when he says it, facing away. They're supposed to be asleep. Stiles asks what it means.

"It means I'm not aroused by people if I don't have a deep emotional attachment to them," he whispers.

Stiles' answering, "Oh," is breathless, framed with him hooking his pinky into Scott's. "Thanks for telling me, Scotty."

Scott doesn't answer, and Stiles gets it. He hadn't wanted to talk about it when he'd come out to Scott, either.

A month later, Scott asks if Stiles has ever tried 'ass stuff'. Stiles snorts at first, because who the hell phrases it that way, but then he turns serious when he sees Scott's not joking.

"You mean, like-- fingering myself or something? No, did you want to... try it, though?"

Scott nods. They're naked, laid out on his bed. Neither of them could say when they'd gone fully nude for the first time, but they've been comfortable like this for years now. Scott reaches over, gives Stiles' ass a pinch, and laughs when he yelps.

He has some lube, and Stiles wants to ask where in the hell he got that. He doesn't, though, just rolls onto his stomach and lifts his hips a bit. Scott's hesitant, careful, stops when Stiles whimpers on the first finger. He nods to let him know he can keep going, and within a few minutes, Stiles is pushing back lightly on two of Scott's fingers, head pillowed on his arms. Scott's free hand is on his lower back, and Stiles knows he's watching, probably trying to figure out what he's seeing or how he feels about it. But it feels incredible for Stiles, and when Scott asks if he wants to try a third finger, he gets an affirmative nod.

Twenty minutes later, Stiles comes untouched with Scott's fingers pressed tightly against his prostate. They both agree that they want to try that again.

They're seventeen when they actually 'lose their virginity', in a way. All of their activities have been manual or oral until now. But it's Scott's seventeenth birthday, and they've been working Stiles up to this carefully, and they're so fucking ready they might both explode. Melissa's already gone to work when Scott wakes up with Stiles laying on top of him, reading The Catcher in the Rye as though Salinger is your average Saturday morning light reading. Stiles looks down when he notices Scott's awake, and although his mouth probably tastes terrible because he hasn't brushed his teeth, Scott leans up and presses a kiss to Stiles' lips, hands slipping down his sides slowly.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he whispers as he begins to pull Stiles' shirt over his head.

"Yeah, Scotty, I'm so sure I want to do this that I fingered myself open this morning thinking about having your cock inside me," Stiles' delivery is completely flat, and he's already working open his jeans. Scott is staring at him, so he stops, exasperated. "What?"

"You-- you were thinking about my dick?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm going to have it in me, aren't I?" Stiles' head tilts in evident confusion.

Scott laughs and nods, reaching toward the bedside drawer. He fishes out a sealed box of condoms and the lube they both like. As Stiles gets them both naked in the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows, he thinks about the first blowjob he ever gave his best friend. His cock is thicker now, longer, intimidating enough that Stiles isn't sure he can take it. But he wants to, because it's Scott, and he loves Scott more than just about anything. He's getting nostalgic when Scott presses two slick fingers into his ass, and Stiles lets out a breathy little sigh, pushes back on his hand. When Scott is satisfied with how well he did (or did not) stretch himself, he rolls a condom down over his cock. They're both clean, and there's not much risk involved, but Scott had mentioned that there would be enough new sensations for Stiles without adding a controllable one. Stiles isn't one to complain.

A few moments later, Stiles is on his elbows and knees, legs spread far apart to accommodate Scott behind him. His cock feels even bigger than it looks as it presses into him.

"You okay?" Scott asks once the head of his cock is enveloped in Stiles' ass. The question earns him a stiff little nod.

"Relax," he instructs softly, smoothing a hand down Stiles' sweat-shiny back.

The gentle command makes Stiles go lax, body softening pliantly under Scott. He presses in slowly, and Stiles hides his face so Scott won't see him grimace. It's almost too much, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes, but it also feels /so damn good/ that he can't help but rock back just a little bit against Scott when he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against Stiles' ass. Stiles suddenly notices how strong Scott feels now.

Two years ago, they were both long and lean and gangly as hell, but now... Scott is all hard edges and firm muscles and as he lays his chest over Stiles' back and eases them to their sides, Stiles closes his eyes, forcing the thoughts from his mind to focus on Scott finally, finally inside him, thrusting in small, gentle motions as he strokes Stiles' cock with a gentle hand. They elicit moans from one another, soft breaths and whispers of sweet nothings. They come only seconds apart, but Scott is first.

"You were thinking really hard for a minute there," Scott comments when they come back to themselves. "What's wrong?"

Stiles shrugs. "Nothing, just-- you're really hot, you know? You've got all this muscle and this tight body and, I don't know, I... don't."

"Stiles," Scott sighs helplessly, stroking a soothing hand down his chest. "I don't care what you look like. And you know what? You're really fucking hot, too."

Stiles shakes his head, but Scott holds him tighter, looking right at him. "I love you, Stiles. So much."

"I love you, too."


End file.
